


The Battlefield

by Heavenlea6292



Series: Home Is A Fire [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Canon Compliant, Manipulative John Winchester, Pre-Canon, Sam Winchester POV, Teenchesters, weechester mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenlea6292/pseuds/Heavenlea6292
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester had his battlefield under control, until he dared to dream of something normal. Like college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mechanic

He pressed his pack against his chest; his eyes squeezed shut as he left everything he ever knew in a cloud of bus exhaust. He felt it for the first time, really, the first time- he was actually alone. Dean had chosen Dad, and Dad didn’t want him.

Dean knew Sam was smart, that he was sensitive and intuitive, and Dean was always telling him not to show it. “Just put it away, Sam. Don’t bother Dad after a hunt, you know how he is. Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you cry. Don’t let him see it.”  
Sam had always clung to that advice with all of his being. He saw what happened when someone showed emotion. Emotion was weakness. Weakness is uselessness. And the useless are eliminated. Sam clung to the duffel that still smelled of the Impala, pressing his face into it as hot tears slid down his face.

Sam’s eyes closed, remembering the first time he even thought that being anything but a hunter was actually possible.  


* * *

Eighth grade Sam was slouched in his seat, trying to look anywhere but the front of the classroom, where his teacher had begun writing on the board. Everyone was going around the room, saying what career they wanted. Secretaries, Doctors, Businessmen, chefs, and the longer the list grew on the board, the more Sam sank down. Maybe Mr. Jezak wouldn’t notice if he just didn’t speak. Maybe someone would seize the opportunity to speak so he didn’t have to. But suddenly, the girl in front of him- Kimberly, if he remembered right- announced that she wanted to be a wedding planner, and the world waited on him. He looked up at the dizzying list of real careers, his face burning. 

“Mechanic,” he whispered. Mr. Jezak looked confused.  
“Speak up, Sam. We can’t hear you if you whisper.”  
“Mechanic, Sir.”  
The room filled with hushed giggles, cut off by Mr. Jezak’s hand.  
“Why a mechanic?” he asked, “You like cars?” Sam shrugged.  
“Not really, sir.”  
“You enjoy fixing things, making them work again?”  
“Uh, no…I guess I do. But…ah, not really cars.”  
Mr. Jezak’s brow furrowed.  
“So, why?”  
Sam bit his lip, his ears burning.  
“Family business.”  
Mr. Jezak nodded, shrugging.  
“Well, if you weren’t gonna be a mechanic, what else would you want to be?” he asked. Sam wanted to scream, to demand what was wrong with being a mechanic- but he knew the answer. Mechanics were dropouts. Mechanics were the war heroes and ex-military men trying to find a way to make money. No one aspires to be a mechanic. You just end up being one. 

“Lawyer,” Sam said, thinking hard on the question, “I’d be a lawyer.”  Mr. Jezak nodded, seeming to like this new direction.  
“Well, that’s a career you can really sink your teeth into,” Mr. Jezak said, rattling off an abundance of facts about going to school for being a lawyer; how many years, what the job climate was like, the kinds of jobs that you could get with that education. Sam stuck his hand in the air, feeling excited. 

“What’s the best place to go for law?” he asked, “Somewhere warm, though.”  Mr. Jezak laughed.  
“Not a fan of winter, Sam?” he asked. Sam could feel himself scowl, despite trying not to.  
“No. I hate winter.” 

Mr. Jezak seemed to deflate a bit when Sam said it, but jumped back on his train before the rest of the class caught on.  
“Then you’d like Stanford University,” he said, writing on the board, “But careful- they only enroll 180 students out of the 4,000 people who apply a year, generally.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“It means that they only enroll about 10% of the people who apply. Stanford is one of those colleges who want you to be the best, the brightest. They don’t just want amazing text scores and extracurriculars; they want students who have unique life experiences, talents, and histories. “  
“So, if a kid applied and he could, ah, hit a moving target with a throwing knife from about 12 yards away, would that be something they’d be interested in?”  
Mr. Jezak laughed.  
“You telling me you can throw a knife and hit someone from 12 yards away?”  
“Yes, even when they’re moving.”  
“You’ve tested this?”  
“Yeah,” Sam replied, “But you didn’t answer my question.” 

Another hand flew up in the class, a girl he remembered was called Anne looking excited.  Mr. Jezak called on her and she whirled around in her seat, facing Sam. 

“So, have you like, killed somebody like that?” she asked, “Is that why your family came here? Because you like, killed someone with your crazy knife skills?” Sam smirked. 

“Well, no,” he said, “You can’t actually kill someone with a throwing knife, especially not at that kind of distance. The physics just don’t work. In order for a throwing knife to be deadly, it depends on its mass, velocity and accuracy.  Knives aren’t really all that heavy, I mean, you’ll probably be throwing a knife that would be around 8 ounces. That’s only a half-pound, and that’s not enough mass to drive into flesh and bone fatally with just the strength of a human arm. Then, the farther away you are, the less accurate you are- it’s not like shooting a bullet or firing a bow. The knife flips end over end and loses velocity the further away you are.  It takes a lot of skill to even hit the target, and it takes pure luck to hit the target with the pointed end.” 

“Well, Nerd-chester, then what good is throwing a fucking knife then?” a boy named Andy yelled from his left. He turned in his seat, looking irritable. 

“I have a gun pressed to your back. You’re going to yell, aren’t you? You don’t know what it feels like to get shot, and movies make it look like, ‘Oh, gun wounds aren’t usually fatal, and they don’t even hurt so bad.’ I mean, look at Rambo. He guns down a bunch of guys and gets shot himself, and it’s not even like they react that much. But a knife…everyone has been cut before. Maybe cutting something for dinner, or with scissors, even a papercut. And cuts…they hurt, even little cuts.  Quite a few people have gotten stabbed by something too- splinters, stepping on something sharp, accidentally sticking yourself in the hand. You KNOW that hurts, even when it just a little thing.” Sam leaned forward as Andy squirmed, “So, I have a knife to your back, and I could do all sorts of crazy shit. I could cut your throat. I could cut off a body part. I could even stab you in the back and leave you paralyzed, and you know it’s going to hurt…so you do what I say.”  
He turned back around, “The throwing knife isn’t intended to kill, most of the time it isn’t even intended to injure. What you want to happen is for your opponent to open themselves up to attack. You see a blade coming at you, you freak. You assume that thing is gonna get stuck in you, so you open yourself up to attack, trying to keep away from that knife flying at you,” he paused, glancing back at Andy, “Then again, if I threw a knife from here at you, I could kill you easily.”

The room was deathly silent, every eye on him. He began to blush, cursing himself for even speaking. It wasn’t even like he could blame anyone else this time for everyone looking at him like he was a freak, 8th graders weren’t supposed to know anything about throwing knives and fighting techniques, and he basically just threatened to kill a classmate. He looked hesitantly at his teacher, who clapped his hands and drew everyone’s attention to the front. 

“Well, thank you Sam for that incredibly educational and terrifying lesson on knife throwing,” he said with a smile, “But I think Stanford would be more interested in talents like multiple languages or the like. But hey, the military would be very interested in your knife skills.”  
Sam sank down in his seat as Mr. Jezak continued his lesson, talking about schools and costs and the types of things people usually have to look into when going to college. Finally, the bell rang and he waited for everyone to leave, shuffling in the back impatiently next to his seat. 

“Hey, Sam?” Mr. Jezak said, waving him up to his desk, “C’mere a second.”  Sam waited at the head of his desk for the slip to see the principal, or the note home to his dad because Mr. Jezak was “concerned”. Instead, Mr. Jezak opened the drawer and pulled out a packet.  
“So, you really interested in becoming a knife-throwing lawyer?” he asked with a smirk.  Sam nodded eagerly as Mr. Jezak slid the packet towards him.  
“Take a look at that then,” he said, “That’s all the prerequisites for Stanford law, usual costs, and a few scholarships and grants you could look into. I know you’re young, but you’re a smart kid. I think you have a solid chance of becoming Rambo the lawyer,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “That is, if you’re willing to forgo the family business.”  
“You, ah, you don’t understand,” Sam said, clutching the packet to his chest, “I want to, I just…my family is real big on…yknow. Familial duty.”  Mr. Jezak stood up, chuckling.  
“You got a few minutes, kid?” he asked. Sam nodded, he was just going to lunch and he wasn’t feeling hungry after embarrassing himself. Jezak nodded, closing the door and sitting in one of the desks. 

“Take a seat, Sam,” he said, gesturing, “This isn’t a lecture. This is me talking to you, person to person, okay?”  
“Okay, Mr. Jezak,” he said, sitting and looking nervous.  
“Call me Jim,” he replied with a wide smile, “So. Family business, eh? Would’ve guessed active duty as your family business.”  
“It…ah, it sorta is.”  
“Ex-military Daddy, huh?” Jim asked, rubbing his mouth, “Let me guess…Marines or Navy SEALS?” Sam looked a bit shocked.  
“Marine…” he replied.  
“Thought so. Military kids all have a different look to them. Air Force kids are usually snobs, I fucking hate dealing with them. But a fellow Jarhead and his kids? Always a pleasure.”  
“You were in the Marines?” Sam asked, “How’d you end up being a teacher?”  
“Like kids better than guns. But I gotta tell ya, sitting at a desk day after day, makes me itch for something a bit more...I dunno. Physical. So tell me, your Daddy teach you how to throw knives?”  
“Ah, sorta. He taught Dean, and Dean taught me. Ah, Dean is my brother.” Jim nodded, rubbing his jaw.  
“Your brother teach you a lot of stuff? Or just how to fight?” he asked. Sam shrugged.  
“He ah... I don’t know how to answer that.”  
“It’s okay, kid. It wasn’t a trick question,” he replied with a smile, “Anyways, back to you and being a mechanic. You don’t wanna do that, but your family is big on the whole ‘sticking together’ thing, right?”  
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding. Jim stretched out his legs, resting them on the wire basket that was attached to the bottom of Sam’s desk.  
“Fuck ‘em,” Jim said, waving his hand.  Sam’s eyes flew open, his throat constricting. 

“What?” 

“I said,” Jim clarified, leaning forward, “Fuck ‘em. This is your life, Sam. You get one, only one.  I bet you heard the story a thousand times from teachers, ‘Oh, my family wanted me to be a doctor or whatever, but I did this instead’ but I’m gonna tell you a story that I think you’ll actually get.”  Sam looked at him skeptically, frowning. 

“Hear me out kid,” Jim said, “So, you know all this shit about fighting, you’ve actually tested how far you can throw a knife at a moving target, and your Dad is a Jarhead. You’re life has gotta be some kind of battlefield, whatever kind it is.”  
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Jim cut him off with a hand.  
“Sam, I get it. You wanna talk about it, you can, and I’ll listen. But you don’t want to; I’m not gonna rat you out.  You’re smart, and you think you have this under control and maybe you do. But the way I see it, you’re only gonna be here a few more weeks and then, poof. You’re on the road again. Your transcripts say that much.  I ain’t gonna make your life miserable for the few weeks I have you. But I am gonna teach you something,” he paused, licking his lips, “So, my Dad was a Jarhead too, and so was my brother and my cousins, I had a whole family of Jarheads, and I was supposed to become one too. And I did. And even though don’t regret meeting the brothers that I did, I don’t regret the service to my country, but I regret every other fucking thing. I regret being too afraid to stand up and say no. I regret that I lay awake in bed and remember gunshots and stink and blood. I regret that I killed boys the same age as me in a fucking jungle. Of course, you need to understand- most of us volunteered.  We wanted to serve. We wanted to go and fight, and most of us are haunted by what happened over there, but we’d do it again. Most of us transitioned pretty well back into society other than the demons we kept hidden in our closets. Course, those demons usually led to alcoholism, divorces and bitter kids…but hey, we’re not as completely fucked up as your text book will tell you,” he smiled sadly, “All I’m saying is…you can’t let your family control your life. It’s your life! You gotta do what you wanna do. No one is gonna feel bad for you when you’re old like me and you say, ‘I wish I did it different’.  They’re gonna stare at you and ask why you didn’t, and you’re gonna feel hollow.” He reached out and grabbed Sam’s shoulder, dragging him forward, his finger in his face.  
“You listen to me, kid,” he said seriously, “You wanna do what your Dad and brother does, fine, you do it and you enjoy it. But if you don’t, you tell them you’re gonna do what you wanna do and if they don’t like it, fuck ‘em.”  
“But…what if my family is all I got?” Sam asked, his eyes wide.  
“You got your brain, don’t you?” Jim asked, poking his forehead, “And shit, you’re a good looking kid. I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay. Anyways, I’ve seen that brother of yours around. I don’t think he’s gonna leave you just cause you wanna be a lawyer instead of a ‘mechanic’,” he finished, using air quotes.


	2. Selfish

Sam wiped his face, pressing his sweaty head against the cool glass of the bull window next to him. No, don’t think about that, don’t don’t don’t. Don’t think about Jim’s response.  
 _“Anyways, I’ve seen that brother of yours around. I don’t think he’s gonna leave you just cause you wanna be a lawyer instead of a ‘mechanic’.”_

But he did. He picked Dad, even though he was so sure after that fight he and Dean had that he would pick him. After all that trouble, maybe he would’ve stood up for Sam. Maybe he even would’ve gone with him. But no. Dean was still wrapped up in Dad’s lies.

* * *

Dad was sitting at the small motel table in the corner, pouring over the texts spread out in front of him. Dean paused at the table, pulling a bundle of papers out of his bag and setting them down.

“Here’s all the newspaper articles you asked for. Handwritten, did it during lunch.” He sounded proud, but Dad didn’t even look up from the book in front of him, only grunting.  Sam winced at the hurt look on Dean’s face as he seemed to curl inside himself, his shoulders hunching and his chin tucking into his chest.  
“I’ll, ah, see what I can put together for dinner,” Dean mumbled, heading towards the small kitchenette. Sam stopped at the table now, his turn to deliver information. He reached inside his bag, shuffling past the packet Jim gave him and taking hold of the wire notebook that had pages and pages worth of research scribbled into it. It was filled with old research, all the research Dad had made him do for other jobs and he used it as his own reference guide so he didn’t have to research the same thing a thousand times.  He was rather proud of that notebook.  
  
“It starts were the bookmark is,” Sam said quietly, “Everything I could find with the specifics you gave me.”  
Dad reached out and grabbed the notebook, flipping through it with a disapproving look.  
“Sloppy writing,” he grunted, “Makes it hard to read.” Sam fumed under the surface, wanting to snatch his notebook back.  
“Sorry, I had to rush,” Sam replied, scowling, “Only so much I can get done in my lunch.”  
“Don’t you get 45 minutes?” John snapped, looking up at him, “I’d think that’d be enough time to write legibly.” Sam sighed, sinking down on his and Dean’s bed next to him. Nothing was ever good enough for him. He licked his lips, trying to figure out a way to broach the subject of higher education with his father.  At first he’d been excited about it, but he knew it’d cause a fight. But why shouldn’t he want to do something different from his father and brother? Other kids did it all the time.  
“At school today, our teacher talked to us about careers,” he began, “It was pretty cool.”  
“Hmm,” came the grunt he expected. He took another deep breath, steeling his resolve.  
“Some of the other kids wanted to doctors and wedding planners and stuff like that…” he continued cautiously, only to be cut off by a loud bark of laughter from his father.  
“You wanna plan weddings or something, boy?” John said with a smirk on his face, “Arrange flowers, coordinate colors?”  Dean snickered from in the kitchen, making Sam frown.  They were already making fun of him?  
“Well, since you asked,” Sam replied in an irritated tone, “I want to be a lawyer.”

There was a loud clatter in the kitchen as Dean whispered, “Sorry,” into the deadly silence.  John’s eyes were riveted on Sam, his mouth set in a hard line.  Sam didn’t move, keeping his father’s gaze as his body tensed.  
“Wanna run that by me again, boy?” John asked, leaning forward.  He flinched, cursing himself for showing any sign of weakness. Sam’s own lips were set in a tight line, his expression matching his father’s.  
“I’m going to be a lawyer,” Sam repeated, “I’m gonna go to Stanford.”

Dean was standing in the small kitchenette’s doorway, worry clearly written on his face as his 14 year old brother announced the one thing their Dad definitely didn’t want to hear.  
“Sammy...” Dean began, only to be cut off by John.  
“You, shut up,” he said, pointing at Dean, “You…you explain to me what gave you such a stupid idea,” he finished, turning to Sam and slamming his finger into his youngest son’s chest.  Sam stepped forward, his face twisted in a scowl.  
“Why do you always tell Dean to shut up?” He demanded, “Dean has just as much to say as you do!”  
“Just answer the question I asked you, boy,” John demanded again, pressing his finger harder into Sam’s chest. Sam winced at first from the insistent press of his father’s finger, then leaned into it defiantly.  
“I don’t want to live like this,” Sam said in a hard tone, “I want to live in a house, the same house every day. I want to get a real job, and have friends, and be a real person! There’s nothing wrong with that, Jim said so!”

The motel room was filled with the sound of a loud slam as the chair flew back into the wall and John was on his feet, towering over Sam.

“We don’t get to be real people,” John shouted, “We’re hunters, not people, Sam, and the sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better off you’ll be!”  
“I didn’t ask to be a hunter!” Sam yelled back, his body shaking as he grew visibly upset, “I don’t want to be a hunter!”  
Dean had left the kitchen now, wiping his hands on his jeans as he approached the two fighting.  
“Dad, he just-“  
“I told you to shut up!” John snarled, looking back at Sam, “Is this what you want? Tearing apart this family so that you can be selfish?”  
“No, I-“  
“All the innocent people out there, you’d let them die because you want to go to some fucking school and be a white collar monster?”  
“No, Dad, I-“  
“Is this what I get? After I saved you, I saved your brother; I raised you and kept you taken care of? You just wanna leave as soon as you can?”  
Sam could feel the tears rising in his eyes as his father yelled in his face, hunching over to protect himself from his harsh words.  
“I’m sorry Dad,” he mumbled.  
“Now you’re gonna cry?” John demanded, standing up and folding his arms, “You’re just gonna sit there and cry like a child because I told you how self-centered you were being?”  
“I’m sorry!” Sam yelled, scrubbing his hand across his eyes, trying to banish the tears, “I’m sorry! I just wanted to-“  
“What, Sam? Run away and never look back? You’d spit on your mother’s memory so easily?”  
  
“That’s enough!”

Both John and Sam turned to look at Dean, wearing matching expressions of shock as he stood there, his hands clenched in fists at his sides and his shoulders shaking.  
“Don’t bring her into this!” Dean yelled again, pointing at his father, “Don’t you bring her into this!”  
“Dean!” John shouted, only to be met with Dean rushing forward.  
“No!” Dean yelled again, “Don’t do that to him, don’t say that! Don’t use her like some sort of weapon, she’s better than that!”  John blanched at Dean’s sudden reaction, leaning back against the table.  
“If Sam wants to talk about college, that’s okay! He’s a kid, why can’t you just let him dream a little?” Dean demanded, “He’s smart, he could do it if he tried!”  
“You want him to leave?” John demanded, “That’s what he’s talking about, Dean. He’s talking about leaving you and me and all the people who need him. He’s talking about running away like a child. He’s talking about abandoning us.”   
Dean turned to Sam, a heartbroken expression on his face.  
“Is that what you want, Sam?” Dean asked quietly. Sam shook his head hard from where he was pressed against the headboard, tears rolling down his face.  
“No,” he whispered, “No, I don’t wanna do that Dean, you gotta believe me…”   
Dean turned back to his father, a tough expression on his face.  
“You always told us the only people we could trust are each other, Dad,” Dean said harshly, “And I trust Sammy. He wouldn’t do that; he wouldn’t hurt me-us-like that.”  
“You’re being an idiot, Dean!” John yelled, picking up Sam’s pack and dumping it over the bed, “He’s already planning, I know he is!” John began to tear through Sam’s papers, searching, before grabbing the packet that Jim had given to him.  
“Don’t!” Sam yelled, reaching for it, “Give it back!”  
John began to tear through it, reading as Sam scrambled forward and grabbed at it.  
“No!” he yelled, “Give it back, Dad, please!”

John shoved Sam roughly away, making him fall from the bed onto the floor. Dean rushed to his side, helping him up.  
“Dad, what the hell?” Dean demanded. John turned to him, throwing the crumpled pages at him.  
“He’s already got the papers,” John snapped, “He’s still got 4 years, and he’s got the fucking papers already. Tell me what that means, Dean! It means he’s already trying to leave us, to leave you!” he pointed at Sam, his hand shaking, “How could you do this to this family, boy?”  
 John turned, grabbing his coat and storming out the door, leaving the two boys alone.  Dean picked up the papers, laying them on the bed and pulling Sam to his feet.

“You okay?” Dean asked worriedly, “Did you get hurt?” Sam shook his head, the tears that had stopped flowing again as he grabbed his brother.  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” He cried, “I don’t want to abandon you, I don’t want to let people get hurt…I just wanted to try and be normal, maybe…”  
“Hey, kid, it’s okay,” Dean said hurriedly, sitting Sam on the bed, “I gotta turn off the stove top, okay, just wait here-“  
“No!” Sam cried, grabbing his arm, “Don’t leave!”  Dean sighed, hauling Sam to his feet.  
“Come with me, then. Can’t let this shithole burn down,” Dean replied, moving to the kitchen as Sam clung to his sleeve. He turned off the stove, setting aside the mac and cheese that would be eaten later.  He managed to usher Sam back to the bed, smoothing out the papers that their father had wrinkled and torn in some places.  
“See? Just a little wrinkled, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, looking over the words, “So, California, huh? Is it for the babes or the beaches?” he asked with a grin. Sam sighed, pulling them away and holding them against his chest.  
“Neither,” Sam said softly, “It’s never cold in California.” Dean laughed, tousling Sammy’s hair.  
“Well, I’ll back you up, kid, okay?” Dean said, “Hell, maybe we’ll do what Bobby does, I’ll find a place out there and we’ll be based in Cali, hunt around there.” Sam smiled, nodding.  
“Maybe,” Sam replied.  
“And who knows, you being a lawyer could help us get into more place, probably. People respect lawyers.”    
Sam nodded with a smile as Dean lay down across the bed on his back, the string of his necklace between his lips.  
“You can’t talk about it in front of Dad, though,” Dean said quietly, “You know how pissed it’s gonna make him, and next time he won’t just push you off the bed.”  
“I know,” Sam said quietly, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. Dean rolled on his side, looking at Sammy hard.  
“Dude, seriously, it’ll be the Florida thing all over again,” Dean cautioned, “You know I won’t be able to break it up.” Sam nodded, pressing his cheek against his knee.  
“I know, Dean,” Sam replied, “I won’t bring it up again.”  
“Good,” Dean replied, rolling back onto his back, “So tell me about this nerd-school of yours. You know if there’d be any nerdy babes there?”


	3. Collect Call

Sam smiled at the memory, of how supportive Dean was at first. When he asked for money for the application, or a few extra bucks to go the extra mile on a project, Dean would always smile and hand him the money. He even drove him to a few community service jobs so he’d have them to impress the admissions officers.  As Sam looked back, he noted with a hint of anger that even if Dean believed he could do it, he believed Sam wouldn’t. He thought it was a phase, like his magic tricks or when he wanted a dog, but it wasn’t. It was what Sam really wanted.   
He fiddled with the zipper on his bag, the bus getting ready to stop for a rest stop. He reached into the bag, pulling out the battered old research notebook that had all the numbers he needed scribbled on the back cover.  He ran his finger down the short list, past bobby and pastor Jim and a few other numbers till he landed on Jim Jezak’s. It was years old, and he didn’t know if it’d still work, but he decided to give it a go. He scribbled it down again on a scrap of paper, watching as everyone else got off the bus to go and use the bathroom. He didn’t need to go, he’d long ago learned how to make a trip with minimal stops, but he needed to use a payphone. He followed behind the weary passengers, slipping past them to a payphone.  He sighed, his fingers shaking as he punched in the number.   
The phone rang a few times, and he was ready to hang up until the voice prompted him to say his name. 

“This is a collect phone call from…”   
“Sam Winchester,” he said hesitantly.  
“..Would you like to accept?”   
“Yeah,” Jim’s voice replied, still as gruff as he remembered, “Sam Winchester, huh? It’s been a while.”   
“Yeah,” Sam mumbled back, “Ah, 2 years, right?”   
“Sounds right. Last time it was for a recommendation letter,” Jim replied, “So, is this the call that you’re making outside the garage you’re working in to tell me you didn’t get in?”   
“Ah, no,” Sam replied, “I got in. Full scholarship.”  
“Goddamn, kid!” Jim exclaimed, “That’s fucking great! Did ya win them over with those knife throwing skills of yours?”   
Sam laughed, feeling a bit lighter now that he was talking to someone who wasn’t furious with him.   
“I think it was my sob story,” he replied, “I had to ask how far back they needed my transcripts, and they said to freshman year…and well, that’s a lot of transcripts. You know.”        
“Sob story?” Jim asked, “Last I check, Sam Winchester had his battlefield under control.”   
“It might’ve…ah, slipped from my grasp.”   
“And your brother?”   
“He was on the opposition.”  
“Really?” Jim asked, sounding flabbergasted, “Didn’t see that one coming.”   
“Me neither,” Sam muttered, “Dad’s had him for too long.”   
“So, your pops didn’t like college, so you had to go with fuck ‘em?”   
“Yeah,” Sam muttered into the receiver, “Listen, I know this is gonna sound weird, but-“   
“You wanna stop by for a few days on your way out to Stanford?” Jim said, chuckling, “It’s fine, Sam. Kinda had a feeling you’d come by at some point. Where you at?”   
“Bus rest stop,” he replied, “Ah, somewhere in Kansas. I think we’re about 2 hours outta Topeka.”   
“Goddamn. Where’d your Daddy have you boys stashed at?”   
“Ah, up in Davenport.”   
“Well, can you get to Fort Collins?”  he asked. Sam nodded before realizing Jim couldn’t see him.   
“Yeah, call you when I get there?”  
“Sure thing, kid. We’ll talk when I pick you up.”

Sam hung up, following the rest of the people back on the bus and tucking himself in the corner again. Calling Jim had been a long shot, he hadn’t exactly kept touch except to ask him for recommendation letters and help with certain things, but Sam figured that anyone who knew Dad right now would be no good. They’d tell him where he was and he wouldn’t put it past Dad to snatch him and drag him home…or whatever shithole they were calling home this week. Dad said don’t come back, but Dad used to say, “If you don’t like it, leave!” on a regular basis, and he’d always came looking for Sam and dragged him back.  He figured once he was on Campus, enrolled in classes and around people who would notice him missing, Dad wouldn’t bother with him. Sam wouldn’t be worth blowing his cover. That’d be the end of it.

He thumped his head against the window angrily, wanting to scream, wanting to throw something or break something or...hunt something. He swore softly under his breath. No, he wasn’t a hunter. Not anymore. Now, he was just Sam Winchester, college student estranged from his family. Sam Winchester the hunter was left in that cabin in Davenport.  He didn’t have the right to call himself a hunter anymore.


	4. Nothing Changes

“Dad, I got in,” Sam said cautiously, his hands clutched tight around the envelope in his hands. He’d asked Pastor Jim to use his mailing address, and Pastor Jim forwarded everything to him, wherever they were.  The letter had come a week ago, and thankfully they were doing a long-term hunt and the letter didn’t get lost on its way to him from Pastor Jim.  

There was a clatter from the kitchen where Dean was cooking, and Sam noted with a feeling of anger and fear that, no matter where they were and what they were doing, nothing changed.

Dad was always sitting at a table, reading their research. Dean was always in the kitchen, trying to be a mother and a wife and a brother all at once. And he was always standing in the middle of them both, holding secrets and bad news.

“Dad,” he repeated, “I got in.”    
His father looked up from the papers and books, his face twisted in confusion.   
“Got in what?” he demanded. Sam shot a look over at his brother, who was shaking his head viciously and biting his lip so hard it was bleeding.  Sam sighed.   
“Stanford, Dad,” he said in a resigned voice, “I got accepted to Stanford for school.”

It was as if time itself had stopped, and he felt as if he was watching the world in slow motion. The table flipping over, the books skittering across the floor, papers fluttering through the air like leaves in fall. A wooden spoon clattering against the floor, spaghetti sauce splashing over dingy walls and stained blue jeans.

A hand gripping the front of his shirt, another snapping his head to the side as his nose exploded in pain and blood. The crack of his head against the hardwood floor, weight on his chest and the smell of unwashed man and whiskey and cheap gas station deodorant.

The slowed down yell of Dean’s voice, “Dad, Don’t!”

And suddenly the world was back to normal, his head bouncing off the floor as his father yelled and Dean tried to pry them apart.   
“I told you that you weren’t fucking going anywhere!” John screamed in his face, “I told you I didn’t want you doing this anymore, and you’ve been standing here, lying to my face!” Sam scrabbled, trying to get out of John’s grip, his eyes wide in terror. Dean was still pulling and yanking at their father, only to have John throw an elbow back and crack him straight across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor with a dazed expression on his face.  Sam managed to shove his father off of him, pulling Dean upright.   


“Why’d you hit him?” Sam demanded, “He didn’t even do anything!”   
“He got in the way,” John yelled, pointing at Sam, “It wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you!”    
“Stop, you two, just stop,” Dean said, still looking dazed, “Please, just stop.”   
“You can’t blame me for you losing your temper!” Sam yelled, standing, “You hit him, it’s your fault you hit him!”   
“I was trying to deal with you, and he got in the way, so who’s fault is it really, Sam?” John demanded, “You want to blame everything on me because you can’t just behave and listen! You can’t just take the consequences of your actions like a man, and other people end up hurt. Your actions did this, not mine!”   
“I told you I got into a really amazing college, Dad!” Sam shouted, “Most parents flip over tables with joy and scream that their kid was smart enough for something so amazing! I’m not the freak, Dad, for not understanding why you’re doing this, you are!” Sam’s chest was heaving as he grabbed his duffel bag, stuffing the few things he owned into it.   
“I needed one thing from you, Dad. I needed you to tell me you were proud of me just once- fuck, not even that- I needed you to not try to beat the shit out of me for doing something that is so fucking normal it’s expected of people! I needed you to be my Dad and not a fucking hunter!”  
“I’m both, Sam, that’s something you don’t get!” John bellowed back, “I’m not like you, I’m a hunter and a father and I can’t separate the two!”   
“You’re not a father!” Sam screamed, zipping his bag, “You’re a soldier, and that’s it! A soldier and a slave driver. I don’t think you ever even knew how to be a father!” 

John tore the bag out of his grasp, whipping it across the room. 

“Don’t be a moron, Sam!” John bellowed, “You’re not going anywhere! Not to California, not to college!”   
“You can’t keep me here!”   
“The fuck I can’t!”   
Sam tried to shove past him, only to be slammed back down on the bed.  John had a tight grip on his shirt, shoving him away disgustedly.   
“You walk out that door boy, you never come back, you understand?” He hissed, wiping his hands on his jeans. Sam stared at his father, biting his lip.   
“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.   
“Yes, I do,” John said coldly.  Dean moved forward, shaking himself.   
“No, Dad…you don’t,” Dean said nervously, “You can’t.”   
“I can, and I do!” he snapped, “You walk out that door, you don’t ever come back!”  John turned to Dean, pointing at him, “He walks out that door, he doesn’t come back. That clear?”   
Dean looked from Sam to his father, his chest heaving and his face white. He looked like he was about to pass out, his eyes wide and glassy.   
“I…”   
“Is. That. Clear?” John demanded.   
“Dean, please,” Sammy whispered, “Don’t, please…”   
Dean was hugging himself hard, tears in his eyes as his head swung between the two.   
“Don’t make me do this, Dad,” he begged, “Please, don’t make me…”   
“It’s him or me, boy,” John said, “You choose. I’m giving you a choice. You choose him, you don’t come back. There’d be no point in coming back. I can’t lose you both.”   
“Dad, please,” Dean begged again, “Sam doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t, right Sam?” he said pleadingly, looking at Sam, “Right Sam? You aren’t leaving.”   
“Yes I am,” he sobbed, “Dean, I’m leaving. Come with me. Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this to us, not anymore!”    
“Do what?” John yelled, “He’s doing it again, Dean! He’s trying to play us off each other so he doesn’t have to face the consequences, so he doesn’t have to lose! He’s always done that, played us off each other, tried to push us apart, you know that!”   
“I never did that!” Sam screamed from the bed, flying off in a mass of flailing limbs, “Stop lying, just for five minutes, stop lying to us!”   
Dean dove between them, no one knowing who was hitting who until John shoved them both away.   
“We always chose him above everything else, Dean!” John accused, “You and I both gave up everything for him, and look at what he’s doing! He’s poisoning you against me, he’s blinding you!”   
Sam clung to the arm of his brother’s shirt, shaking his head.   
“I’m not, Dean, I wouldn’t.  Don’t stay here, come with me like we planned, just you and me, we can hunt in California, you promised…”  Dean pulled Sam to his feet, walking over and shoving the duffel bag into his chest.   
“Go outside and wait, Sam,” Dean commanded, “Now.” 

Sam was in a daze, clinging to the bag as he stumbled towards the door. He turned back to John, his hurt etched into his features. 

“I hate you,” he whispered.


	5. Goodbye

He was jerked out of the memory as the bus hit another bump in the road, and he took the opportunity to scan the horizon for some sort of landmark to tell him where they were. He finally figured it out, they were about to cross the state line into Colorado. Almost to the last person he could trust, someone he hadn’t seen in almost five years. It was pathetic; the last person he had to trust was some former teacher that he knew in 8th grade.

* * *

He was in the front seat of the Impala, his bag clutched to his chest as the storm raged in the cabin and inside him.  Dean stumbled out, keys and jacket in his hands as John stuck his head out after him, yelling.   
“Don’t you fucking choose him, boy!” he bellowed, “It’ll be the biggest mistake of your life!”   


Dean slammed into the car, silent as the grave as he started it and swerved out of the driveway.  They sat in silence until Sam heard Dean’s quiet voice. 

“Sammy, get my pack and lighter out of the glove compartment, will ya?” 

Sammy nodded, grabbing the pack and opening it. He saw the way Dean’s hands were shaking, so he put the cigarette between his lips and lit it for him, passing it over. “Thanks Sammy,” he whispered, taking a deep drag. Sam pulled out a second one, putting it between his teeth.   
“Can I?” he asked. Dean nodded, his hands still shaking. Sam lit up, taking his own deep drag and opening the window. They were quiet until Dean spoke again. 

“I can’t do this, Sammy,” he whispered, “I can’t.  I can’t fucking do this.”   
“What, Dean?” Sammy asked, biting his lip. Dean laughed, the sound high pitched and strangled.   
“Fuck…Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his palms off the steering wheel, “What the fuck, what the fuck did I do to deserve this?”   
“Dean,” Sam began, trying to reach out to him but being cut off by a frustrated scream from him.   
“It’s not fucking fair!” he wailed, “I shouldn’t have to choose. I shouldn’t have to do this, this shouldn’t be on me!”   
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, only to have Dean turn and look at him, his face twisted between a smile and a grimace.   
“Yeah? Me too, Sammy,” he growled, slamming on the gas, “What am I supposed to do now? I go with you, you know Dad’s gonna lose his shit. He’ll never let us come back, he’ll do something crazy…” he paused, swallowing, “But if I choose him, you’ll never let me back into your life. You’ll hate me.”   
“I’ll never hate you, Dean,” Sammy said his breath tight in his chest. Oh god, was Dean going to leave him? Was he going to be left alone, for real this time?   
“But how am I supposed to choose, Sammy?” he asked, “Tell me what to do, I can’t do this on my own, I can’t! I’m a grunt, I take orders, and I don’t make decisions!” Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder, squeezing.   
“I want you to come with me,” he said softly, “So bad, Dean. I want it to be us, like it’s always been. Like when Dad isn’t home, when Dad left us alone. Just Dean and Sam…but you have to choose Dean. I’m not Dad. I won’t make the decision for you, I won’t.”

Dean let out the quietest sob Sam had ever heard. It was soft and deep, as if it had crawled from his guts and tore from him in the most painful way possible. Sam started to cry again, unable to help himself. Maybe Dad was right. He was selfish. He was the worst brother and son that ever lived, and now there was no turning back. He’d destroyed his family. They drove for a while like that, both quietly crying and not looking at each other until Dean pulled into the bus depot.   


“Sam,” Dean began, looking over at him, “I…” Sam stopped the sob that was about to rip through him, shaking his head hard.   
“Don’t,” he said, “Don’t say it Dean. I know.”   
“No you don’t,” Dean said pleadingly, grabbing Sam’s sleeve, “I can’t leave him, if I leave, he’s got nothing.”   
“Stop,” Sam said harshly, “Don’t explain.”   
“I have to,” he said, looking crushed, “Sammy, please, don’t leave like this.”   
Sam stared at his brother, willing the tears to leave, clutching the bag as it started to rain outside.  Dean pulled out his wallet, stuffing all the money he had into Sam’s hand.   
“It’s all I’ve got,” he whispered, “I got an extra pack of smokes if you want them. Fuck it, take 'em anyways.” He stuffed the pack and a lighter into Sam’s hand, biting his lip.   
“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, stuffing them into his pocket, “I guess this is goodbye then, isn’t it?” Sam demanded, “I guess this is it.”   
“Yeah,” Dean whispered.  He leaned over, dragging Sam into a hard hug, soft sniffles escaping him. Sam clung to him, crying again and pulling away.   
“I love you, Dean,” Sam whispered. Dean nodded.   
“When it’s over…will you come back?” Dean asked, “Will you come and find me, if I’m still alive?”   
“Just do me a favor.”   
“Anything, Sammy.”   
“Don’t die,” Sam sobbed, “Don’t let him kill you. Come find me before you let him or anything else kill you.”   
“I can’t,” Dean whispered, looking away.   
“I know,” Sam replied, “Bye, Dean.”   
“See you later, Sammy.”

Sam got out of the car and stood in the pouring rain, watching Dean drive away without looking back, letting out a wail of pain and hurt, turning and running inside the bus depot.

* * *

Sam got up as the bus stopped, picking up his bag and feeling the pack of cigarettes still in his pocket, once Dean’s. Just a day ago, Dean’s.  He got off the bus, opening the pack and taking one out, crushing it against his lips and lighting it, taking a drag and letting it out with a shuddering sigh.  It wasn’t fair. Dean promised that he’d always be there, and now he wasn’t. He’d picked dad and left him with a handful of cash and a pack of cigarettes.  He’d never felt so alone as he did in that moment, stubbing the cigarette beneath the heel of his boot, walking into that bus depot. He found another pay phone, punching in the collect call number and then Jim’s.  He spoke when the voice prompted him to, waiting for Jim’s answer. 

“In Fort Collins then, Sam?” Jim asked.    
“Yeah, just got here. How long of a wait am I looking at?”  
“A minute. I’m on my mobile, so I’ll be there in a few seconds…actually, I’m turning in now. I figured out the schedule, save us both some time.”   
“Thanks Jim,” Sam said, “See ya in a minute.”   
“Yup kid.”

He picked up his bag and bee lined for a beat up old pickup truck, his former teacher sitting inside. Time hadn’t exactly been kind, his face that was once finely lined now deeply wrinkled and hair that was once only gray at the temples light gray. He was still a big man though, and his smile was just as welcoming as the first day he walked into his class.

“Goddamn boy, did you grow,” Jim said with a grin, patting his shoulder, “It’s good to see you.”   
“It’s good to see you too,” Sam mumbled, playing with the zipper on his jacket. 

Jim sighed softly, pulling out of the bus depot, saying, “So Sam. I think it’s time you tell me about that battlefield of yours.”


	6. Gain

The world changed for Sam Winchester when he left home. He lost a father, a brother, everyone he ever knew. He lost the only thing he called home.   
But he did gain something he didn’t expect.

It all started with a hand on his shoulder at orientation, and a cheery voice saying,

_“Hi! I’m Jessica, what’s your name?”_


End file.
